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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540769">I was called back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsgameover/pseuds/itsgameover'>itsgameover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baekhyun Comeback Celebration 2020, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, mentions of riots and war, only one tiny bit of graphic violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:01:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsgameover/pseuds/itsgameover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yesterday a maker of brine and sauerkraut told me the world would end by corrosion and decay. I’m not so sure." - Samuel Ace</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Challenge #3 — Sweet vs Spicy</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I was called back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by "I was called back" by Samuel Ace and one of my all time favourite movies "The Pianist". I have always wanted to explore the idea of a character-centric story set in a war torn nation. It was pretty hard to keep it under the 1k mark, but I am pretty proud of the result.<br/>Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>In the ruins of a church they sit, the sound of the falling bombs -a collective memory- not allowing any of them to properly sleep. The winds sings a song of forgotten times, a boy cries in the arms of his mother, Baekhyun wonders if he will ever see his mother again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The days are short, nights are long, winter creeps inside his chest. He wakes covered in chilblains. Baekhyun sometimes forgets what is like to be warm and safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, he should be glad he is alive. The kid who cried never woke up. Cold nights, cold rain, ruins are no proper shelter. They bury him, attempt at proper rest. Baekhyun remembers his own brother being buried, months before the uprising, and feels the urge to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Refugees are doomed to always be searching for a home that they left behind. But what other choice did they have? Follow the party or die. Running away never guarantees life, but it offers it like a tantalizing price, close enough that you can see it, still so far away that you can’t touch it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They march for days at the time, hungry and tired, losing faith in survival with each step they take. Baekhyun sighs as they walk towards yet another ghost town, other of those abandoned settlements. The self-appointed leader, a strong man with a gentle voice, tells them to split and find food and wearable clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone is tired, but what other choice do they have? Sit and cry? They have done that already. Complain and yell? Another tried tactic that gave nothing good. In the end, they must unite to survive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun wanders alone for an hour, finding bits and pieces of food that doesn’t look at all appetizing but at least doesn’t smell rotten. The town must have still been inhabited no long ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he walks through empty streets, he asks himself ‘what happened here?’ and his chest tightens as he remembers what happened in his own town. The violence in the streets, the screams, the horror. Blood on the streets, blood on his hands, the screeching noise a man made when they stabbed him to death for giving bread to a woman accused of terrorist acts.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers the daughter of the baker, a sweet girl with beautiful black hair, the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. They dragged her out of her home by the hair, accused of conspiracy,  and shot her in the back of the head. Baekhyun saw from his window how her body fell limp to the ground, painting the grey sidewalk with her blood. He swore then that he wouldn’t stay to see the rest of the carnage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother didn’t want to leave, as his father was still out there, missing since the rioting began. But she never stopped him, she encouraged him, packed him a warm meal, blessed him with old prayers and sent him to the underground train where others waited for a hopeful escape to the hell their city had become. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baekhyun wonders, silently sitting by the fire in the outskirts of the ghost town, if hope was a thing he could still harbor in his wretched heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baekhyun?” a small voice calls “Can I sit with you?” To his left is a man with brown hair and eyes angled upwards, holding something between his hands. He knows they know each other but he can’t remember his name was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes” he answers, shifting a little in his seat. The man sits next to him, holding his possession tightly against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good night, don’t you think?” most of their little group is sitting near a boy named Minhyung,  who found a working guitar and tried to lift everyone’s spirits by belching some old folklore songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, we lucked out here” Baekhyun smiles softly, adjusting the wool gloves he took from a corpse in the ghost town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember the pastries of Mrs Kim’s bakery?” Baekhyun nods. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he is still a small boy waiting for the doors to open so he can ogle and savour the tasty products made by Mrs Kim’s skilled hands “God, I adored them. My favourite were the orange cookies covered in chocolate. What were yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The same as yours. Those cookies were heaven”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then, I found some heaven for you” he looks arounds and opens his hands gently, small dirty  handkerchief sliding off to reveal a small orange. Baekhyun raises his eyes towards the man in front of him “It’s not orange cookies, but it’s orange nevertheless” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They peel it just enough to reach a few slices and take one each. Baekhyun smiles at the little gift sitting in the palm of his hands, orange and so soft, stark contrast to his dirty wool gloves, to the coarse skin underneath. He closes his fingers for a second, if only to feel that it’s real, and then, with eyes closed, he puts it inside his mouth. Chewing it is strange at first, as if his mouth forgot the taste of non-rotten fruit. Before he knows it he is tearing up, sobbing like a child, feeling the sweet taste fill his mouth. It’s novel and old, fresh and so, so antique. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man next to him is called Minseok, he remembered him, one of his neighbours of old. He takes Minseok’s face in his hands, crying but smiling. Scared, alone, feet colder than hell, mouth full of sweetness for the first time in months, the familiar face calls him in and when they kiss Baekhyun hopes the aftermath of such a long walk is as sweet as this stolen moment. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I could understand its beauty, the rainbow-thick shimmer of pigment and poison, a seeping fissure of love before  the apocalypse</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
  <b>- </b>
  <b>
    <em>I was called back</em>
  </b>
  <b> by Samuel Ace</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments are always appreciated &lt;3<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/kaisooyas">follow me on tw for less sadness and more memes</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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